I'll Be Waiting
by Redlance-ck
Summary: If you can't take a chance at Christmas... [One-shot]


**Disclaimer:** Character's don't belong to me, but I did ask for them for Christmas...

**A/N: **Merry Christmas! :)

* * *

_Sam,_

_They say that Christmas is a time for forgiveness. A time for goodwill to all men and love and all that mushy crap I know you don't buy into. Who exactly it is that says that, I'm not sure. But I really, really hope they're right. _

_I'm sorry that we're fighting. I'm sorry it's my fault (and it is, all of it). I'm sorry about... everything really. The last two years. _

_I'm sure by now you've figured it out, you always were the mystery solver in the family. Why I left. Why I came back and ran again. None of it was ever your fault, but it was because of you. I was scared, Sam. What I felt for you (still feel for you) was too much and I didn't know what to do with it. So I forced it away, pretended it wasn't there until I couldn't anymore. And then I left. I thought that would be better than the alternative. Rejection, disgust, disappointment. But it was just really, really lonely. And I missed you so much. _

_I stayed away until I thought I could control it, but I found out that there isn't really any way to do that once I came back. So I left again. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for the way I yelled and the things I said. I didn't mean any of them, I just couldn't let you get close. I didn't know what would happen if you did or what I'd do if you felt the same._

_I'm rambling. Really, I just want to say that I'm sorry._

_Okay that's a lie. There is one more thing: I know what I'd do now. _

_On Christmas Eve I'll be standing beneath the arbour in the park. The one across from the Christmas tree. If there's anything you need to say to me, meet me there. 6pm. _

_Maybe I'm hoping for a miracle, but if you can't have grand wishes at Christmas, when can you?_

_Love,_

_Brooke._

You think about it later, after the message has been delivered and there's no hope of taking anything back. You think about everything you've done that's brought you to this moment. Every bitchy comment and snide remark thrown out to cover up the painful truth. You think about everything you eluded to in the letter and wonder when, exactly, you turned into a crazy woman.

That's about the time you start to panic. Because why on Earth would Samantha McPherson give you the time of day? Let a lone a few minutes on Christmas Eve, when she could be spending time with Mac and the parentals.

But maybe she will throw you a minute or two. Long enough to spit perhaps the only words you deserve in your face. 'Go to Hell' or some other variant.

It takes you twenty minutes longer than it should to arrive at the park because your body is shifting in slow motion to compensate for your rapidly buzzing brain. It's too busy in your head and too sluggish outside of it but you're still early to arrive. And it takes you three tries before you make it out of the car and cross the street to where the twenty foot tree towers over any by-passers. It looks beautiful, all lit up.

You can see your breath as you exhale, a shaky cloud of moisture leaving you like an uncertain spirit, and you feel small as you stand beneath the arbour and begin your wait.

You can almost HEAR the seconds ticking away on your wrist watch, though you refuse to look at it. The idea that your time slot might have already come and gone without you realising, without her showing, makes your stomach roll unpleasantly.

Oh god, what of she doesn't come? What if she DOES? Your mind runs through all possible scenarios and outcomes until your brain feels winded and then suddenly, she's there.

Standing ten feet away from you at the little gated entrance to the park.

She's wearing a deep purple toque that looks knitted and a baby blue scarf that doesn't match at all and she looks... You can't quite gauge what she's feeling or thinking, but she looks stunning. Her cheeks are flushed from the chill and her hands are buried deep in the pockets of her jacket. And she's staring at you as though she hasn't expected you to be there.

Another moment of panic grips you; what if she hasn't read the letter yet?

You don't have time to ponder much further on that because now she's coming towards you and you can feel the moisture just evaporating from your mouth. She keeps coming until there's only a few feet between you and then she stops.

Your heart feels like its going to burst and your skin prickles almost painfully.

"Say it out loud." You blink at her, uncomprehending, and she stares right back as defiant as always. "Just say it once, out loud. So I know this isn't some kind of sick, backwards joke." Your heart hurts then, but what did you expect? You kind of deserve the mistrust after everything you've done to her. And yet, she's still here.

"I..." Your words crackle and break like splintering firewood, but you force yourself to keep going. "I love you, Sam." And she stares at you again. With those deep brown, pensive eyes that so often burn with unbridled intensity. They're burning now.

And your heart stops all together when she leans in and touches her cold lips to yours. Beneath a mistletoe covered arbour. Then suddenly there's warmth and sense and colour leaking back in to your frigid, monochromatic world. You can't breathe for butterflies and Sam tastes like cinnamon, and just when you're finally beginning to thaw, she pulls away. But this time she stays close enough for you to feel the breath on her face and you blinks open eyes you doesn't remember closing to find Sam smiling at you.

"I love you, too."

And she looks so beautiful, all lit up.

You feel giddy and foolish and like a lovestruck teenager, and so when Sam leans her forehead against yours you duck your head and catch her off guard. The way you lick into her mouth seems to surprise her and you feel her tug one of her hands out of her pocket to grab a fistful of your jacket and just cling. She sighs into the kiss and you smile against her lips.

It's certainly not a bad way to end the year.

And you think it might just be the best way to start a new one.


End file.
